


the sea throws rocks together

by manhattanvalleys



Category: One Piece
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:25:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattanvalleys/pseuds/manhattanvalleys
Summary: "I—" Law's mouth is suddenly very dry. "You don't have to do that," he says.





	the sea throws rocks together

**Author's Note:**

> (but time leaves us polished stones)

The waterfront bar has been closed and empty save for the two of them for hours, now—them, Law supposes, and the bottle of scotch. The alcohol is warm inside him, but neither he nor the pirate king are drunk; certainly he is not so far into his cups as to have imagined what has just come out of Luffy’s mouth. 

The whole of the bottle wouldn’t have been enough. 

Aloud, he croaks, “What?” 

“I wanna eat you out,” Luffy repeats, casual as anything, sets down his glass on the bar. Like he has no idea of the way the phrase slams arousal down Law’s spine and settles all the alcohol’s warmth into a pulsing heat between his legs, blood rushing south, heartbeat skipping. “If you want. I wanna make you feel good.”

“I—“ Law’s mouth is absurdly, improbably dry. Further down he’s wet already, shamefully so; enough to feel it when he squeezes his eyes shut and shifts on his barstool, squeezes his thighs tightly together in a vain effort to relieve the pressure there. He hopes Luffy doesn’t notice. He’s sure that Luffy does. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m telling you I want to, Torao.” Having his eyes closed, Law discovers, makes it far harder to keep the image of the pirate king kneeling between his legs out of his mind, so he opens them instead, finds Luffy watching him carefully, large eyes dark. He’s hasn’t touched Law at all tonight, for all the hours they’ve been mere inches apart, isn’t moving now, waiting for an answer. His expression is earnest, like he’s offering something wholly different from a carnal pleasure. Like it’s right for this to be about Law feeling good, when he’s certain it should be the other way around. 

Faced with Luffy’s certain gaze something springs loose, and he can’t help it, can’t stop himself. It _isn’t_ right, not for a moment, but the words punch out of him anyway: “Yes,” and, “oh, god,” and, in a voice that is far too tellingly desperate, even to his own ears, “ _please."_

Maybe he’s not as sober as he thought.

Luffy doesn’t waste a moment more. Gets up and steps mind-numbingly close, guides Law onto his feet and back against the bar, up onto it so he’s almost sitting on the edge. Law is intensely aware of Luffy’s breath on his collarbone—of Luffy’s warm hands—of the heat Luffy radiates just by existing, a bonfire not quite contained in a human shell.

Deft fingers undo the front of Law’s jeans, slipping briefly lower to drag a nail up the center seam. Law grabs convulsively at the edge of the bar. Then Luffy’s hands are tugging his jeans and underwear down, _lift up a little, Torao,_ down over his hips; the cooler air of the empty bar is rousing, the wood grain of the table under his ass a sharp confirmation that this is actually happening, that it isn’t a strange and impossible dream.

Still he’s enraptured as he watches Luffy get down on his knees, his head thick with fog. Dazedly Law thinks that Luffy looks good from this angle, all messy hair and rakish smile and mischievous eyes, the very picture of a pirate. Luffy scoots closer, says, “You’re gonna have to open your legs a little wider.”

For a moment Law stares at him dumbly, thrown by the reminder that this is something in which he too is a participant—suddenly discomfited by the intense focus with which Luffy is watching him, watching for his reaction. “I . . .” he manages, and can only stare back, imploringly.

Luffy’s unerring instinct comes through. Law has never been more deeply grateful for it than when Luffy asks instead, “Do you want me to keep going?” 

At his jerky nod Luffy plants his hands on Law’s knees and pushes them gently apart. Law draws a shuddering gasp as colder air rushes in, and Luffy leans in and breathes out, hot breath ghosting over where Law is by now devastatingly sensitive. 

Law’s words, caught intractably in his throat just a moment before, come pouring out when Luffy pauses there. He only knows he’s saying something because he can hear someone begging, “Don’t make me wait, fuck, please,” and recognizes the embarrassing voice as his own. He manages to keep himself planted firmly against the edge of the bar, but the desire to move is maddening. He wants to push forward, to spread his legs wider, to do anything that will get Luffy to touch him. Would agree to anything, just now, if it offered the slightest relief from the heavy need in his cunt, just short of painful.

Luffy ducks his head down, and for an instant Law sees his flashing grin. Then Luffy’s mouth is on him, and Law stops seeing anything, forgets all other senses; lets his eyes slide closed and knows nothing save Luffy’s tongue sliding against his clit, hot and wet and unspeakably lewd. For an instant the rest of him falls away—the world falls away, and in its place there’s only Luffy’s mouth and stunning pleasure, the uncoiling of a tightly-wound spring.

When he comes back to himself moments later Luffy is looking up at him with amusement. His nose is still pressed in just the right place, and when he speaks down there the bursts of air and the movement of his lips send shivers through Law. “I didn’t think Torao would be _that_ fast.”

The realization that it took hardly more than a touch from Luffy to make him come is so humiliating that Law thinks they’re to be finished there and then, the momentum of the embarrassment surely enough to wash out any remnants of arousal and chase him out of the room. His mind draws a blank, and just then he is horribly aware only of how exposed he is.

But Luffy says, “Let’s make the next one last,” and buries his face down against Law’s sex again, his mouth closing to suck; and Law can only fall back on his elbows and groan, long and loud. The moment passes.

Somehow he manages to find enough willpower through the waves of sensation to reach forward and put a hand in Luffy’s hair, even—unthinkingly—to push down to get Luffy’s nose to press deeper, where his nimble tongue has already managed to reach. Catching his intention Luffy pushes harder there, once, again, gets another unrestrained sound out of Law. The roil of pleasure builds again, rises—falls away, just out of reach now that the first crest of the wave has passed, leaves Law mad for more. 

He wants to scream with frustration when Luffy suddenly pulls back, but whatever rebuke planned to escape him without his permission dies on his lips when Luffy says, “Turn around, Torao, and bend over.”

Law doesn’t protest; couldn’t even consider it as his body obeys, leaves him sprawled on his stomach, hands grasping the far side of the bar, legs spread _wide_. Can’t pull a single coherent thought together at all as he feels Luffy’s calloused palm slide up the back of his thigh, because this—him bent over for Luffy, Luffy’s hands on him, unable to hide just how badly he wants Luffy to push him down and take what he wants, whatever he wants, _just like this_ —it’s like a filthy-wet dream, beyond the realm of any conscious reality. Any words Law had are gone: subsumed. A dozen years of heart’s longing threaded with desire, coalesced into a blinding instant of physical want.

“I’m gonna use my fingers now,” Luffy says. 

It’s all Law can do to moan helplessly against the bar, eyes tightly closed. 

Luffy makes good on the promise, carefully opens him on his fingers, continues to make excellent use of tongue. At this angle he can push deeper, and he works two of his fingers in all the way up past the second knuckle, drawing them in and out at a monstrously deliberate pace. 

In this position Law is acutely aware of the wet dripping down the inside of thighs, spread slick over Luffy’s face, Luffy’s hands. The sound of Luffy’s fingers pushing inside is obscene, and the sudden desire that seizes Law to lick the mess off Luffy’s hands is more so. That’s how he’s always imagined this going, after all, in those moments before shame snuffed out the thought; Law on his knees for the pirate king’s pleasure, his mouth on Luffy, not Luffy getting down to pleasure someone like _him._

Face pressed against the bar, he promises himself that next time—if there ever is a next time, but Law doesn’t think about that, not with Luffy’s hand inside him, not with bursts of pleasure singing up his spine and leaving him gasping, each breath loud in the empty room—next time, he’ll make it right. Anything Luffy wants, even if hurts, even if Law hates it.

Then Luffy curls his fingers down inside him, and Law stops thinking about that, too; and oh, how the wave crests.

His first orgasm at Luffy’s hands was hair-trigger, a flash of pleasure like a blown fuse. The second is a crescendo that reaches its peak and rolls through him as thunder does, makes his toes curl _hard_ and his eyes roll and his whole body buck violently while he grips the edge of the bar, nails digging into the wood. He thinks he shouts, muffled against the table. Luffy works him through it, not taking his fingers from the spot that pulled him over the edge until the aftershocks have ended.

Law lies wholly collapsed atop the bar in the wake of it, his mind pleasantly blank, distantly aware of the sound of Luffy jerking himself off behind him. Law is covered in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, the evidence of his arousal cooling stickily between his legs. For a brief, perfect while, he can’t bring himself to care.

There’s a low sound as Luffy finds his release and then flops onto the bar beside him, one hand still down the front of his pants, the other wiping his mouth. His hair is disaster, all the more so where Law grasped it in his impatience, and in the dim light of the lamp on the far side of the room Law thinks he looks golden and perfect, unchanged by years of being the lord of all pirates. 

Wonders anew how it’s possible that this happened, that someone like this could possibly want to touch him—for a moment his gaze drifts to his own hands, to the white blotches marring the dark brown of his skin—how someone like this could possibly want to make Law feel good, with no other goal in mind, with nothing taken in return.

Luffy sees him looking and grins, big and bright. Says, “Did you like it?”

The laugh bursts out of Law's chest without warning. “God above, Luffy.” After a moment, sobered, he says, “You should have let me . . . you didn’t even let me return the favor. It should’ve been me making you feel good, not the other way around.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Luffy says, bluntly enough to make Law blink. “I wanted to make you feel good, and I did, and that makes _me_ feel good. And you can return the favor next time,” he pauses, shrugs his shoulders, “if you wanna have a next time.” 

For a moment, Law finds it hard to breathe, stunned silent by Luffy’s clarity, his assurance, the ease with which he gives things of such importance. Comfort, and choice, and the absence of obligation; no hint there that Law owes him, now, though surely he should. No anchor to irretrievably alter what they are to each other.

In a sudden rush of tenderness, Law reaches towards him, brushes his knuckles against the old scar on Luffy’s cheekbone. It hasn’t changed—as Luffy hasn’t changed, not inside, not even after all he’s achieved. 

He swallows the sentiment that threatens to escape him, then, the source of that foolish scabbed-over wound in his heart. Says instead, “I think we should get ourselves cleaned up. Before someone finds us.” He doesn't take his hand away from Luffy’s face.

Luffy turns his head to press into Law’s hand, and says, very quietly, “In a minute.”

Another minute, Law decides, will be just fine.


End file.
